Things of Power
by TiB0n3s
Summary: Most people around the Hellsing Organization aren't as they seem. The flighty blonde is a vampire, the butler is the Angel of Death, the monster in the dungeon is certainly more than just any other monster. So what about the American Operative sent to help stop the spread of vampires into the United States, what's her secret?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I've had this idea running around in my head for a good long while but never really knew what to do with it, and since I'd more or less written myself into a corner with Wings and Fire a few years ago I figure the best way to get around that is to start writing something else and hope it just comes to me. Any mistakes are mine as I don't have a beta and I can't guarantee a solid update time frame, but I really hope to update again before Friday. Comments are always appreciated, so leave Kudos if you like this and let's see how this goes, shall we?

* * *

They were all calling to her as she slept, all of them at once. Cries of agony and supplicating screams begging to be heard. Distant shouts, fervent whispers, prayers of the fallen and the doomed alike. Ghosts of possibility wrapping around her mind like a veil without the focus to direct them to her, give her the power to answer. It was beyond aggravating, waiting for him to make up his damned mind about what they were going to do; stay and wait or pursue what was so _rightfully_ hers. Every night pushing her mind just a bit further to the sheer cliff edge of madness that lingered just beyond the event horizon.

Emerald green eyes snapped open as the dark silhouette abed shot upright. She needed noise, music, something to drown them out, _anything_ to have a moment of blessed silence. They were dragging nails across the chalkboard of her skull, reverberating throughout her mind as a never-ending echo screaming throughout her consciousness. Latent images of war and death and wanton destructions played in a kaleidoscope of color.

"Alexa, I need the madness playlist on the full coverage system," she called to the smart speaker on her bedside table.

"Okay," came the artificial voice from the Echo before a deafening heartbeat of double bass and screaming guitar played throughout her loft.

"Josh Rand, bless the hands of that man. Thanks," she murmured, palms rubbing at tired eyes, no doubt darkened at the edges from lack of proper sleep. "What's my day look like?"

"It is currently 67 degrees outside, with expected highs of 92 degrees. Traffic should be light at this time of day with an expected rush hour beginning at 5:47 AM. You have a call scheduled at six to discuss-"

"What time is it now?"

"It is 12:13 AM"

"Fuuuuuuuck," she groaned, falling back onto the bed. Well over five hours until any _real_ work could begin, "Any prolonged suffering on the agenda or can we just skip that today?"

"I do not see 'prolonged suffering' on your calendar, would you like me to add it?" came the application's voice once more.

"Rhetorical, Alexa, thank you." It was going to be a long day if she couldn't get him to fall in line with making a move out of the Americas. What she was looking for wasn't in the U.S. anymore, from the rumors that had been circulating for over two years that much could be taken as absolute truth. But then there were the conflicting whispers that it was either in London proper, or somewhere in Ireland, which would put it squarely inside Catholic borders. That possibility could only end in certain disaster if they got their heretic fingers on it.

"Crank it up, Alexa, we're getting an early start."

* * *

 ** _One Month Later_**

"Their operative is rather impressive, ma'am. She worked as a mercenary with Blackwater from '05 until the American government took an interest in her in '09. She was selected for F.B.I. special operations training, graduated at the top of her class, broke several of their academy records and stepped on the toes of more than a few of her instructors it seems. The Bureau assigned her to V.T.C., gave her to their most seasoned handler, and she's worked there ever since. She's been on more successful operations in those eight years than nearly all of our men here have been in nearly two decades."

Integra sifted through the American operative's "official" service record once more, thoroughly impressed but skeptical. She flipped the jacket closed, brushed a strand of long platinum blonde hair over her shoulder, and inhaled a long drag from the thin cigar, exhaling her reservations with a thick puff of fragrant smoke. The Americans reaching out with their offer of cooperation was long overdue, but neither Integra nor Walter could find any event that would have perpetuated such an offer. The call they had received from the F.B.I. handler mere days ago was both worrisome and relieving, thus suspicion had cropped up and Walter had done a thorough job of digging up any information that could be found on both the handler and his operative. But anything of note to be found was recorded meticulously in the service record they had picked through for the past two days.

"We'll need to keep a watchful eye out, Walter," she finally affirmed. "I've already told the Bureau's handler that we would accept their offer, I can't afford not to have another seasoned operative, especially with that damned vampire bringing home his little, starving stray."

"Of course, sir," the butler nodded with a knowing glance. "Though I wonder, Alucard never did give a reason for bringing home the Police Girl. It's quite out of character for him, if I do say so myself."

The woman took another long drag from her cigar before crushing it into the ever-present ash tray on her desk and sitting back in her chair. "We're far too off balance for another surprise, Walter." She adjusted her spectacles with a sigh, "All these artificial vampires popping up, causing more trouble than they're worth. Then there's the matter of the Paladin and the Iscariot Organization; spitting in the face of our treaties, going to far as to blatantly disregard years of fragile peace. Something is coming, something I fear we won't see until it happens and the American may be just the beginning. We need to prepare everyone."

"As you say, Sir Integra." Walter collected the American operative's service record from his mistress' desk, "Will you require anything further, Sir?"

"Ensure the American's room is prepared, her handler said he would not be staying and was due to head back after our meeting." Integra stood and turned to the wall of windows situated just behind her desk, "When are they scheduled to arrive again?"

Walter chuckled, "Perhaps, Sir Integra, it would be best if you headed to bed. They shall be here late tomorrow afternoon." The butler looked on as the head of the Hellsing organization simply gathered her cigar case from her pocket and lit another cigar in quick succession. "As you say, Sir," knowing his mistress was likely to remain awake until dawn, reading over after-action reports and planning reconnaissance missions.

"I don't need Alucard causing a scene, Walter," she called as he reached the doors. "Do make sure he doesn't find out until _after_ we've spoken with the Americans. And I need the confirmation for the Round Table Conference next week, I certainly don't need anything to add fuel to the fire they're looking for."

"Of course, Sir," the aged butler affirmed with a shallow bow.

* * *

"Ma'am, your American guests are driving through the front gate now," came the gate guard's notice over the phone on Integra's desk.

"Thank you, Stevens," she acknowledged dismissively.

The late summer sun cast long shadows over the property in the last hour of daylight, a subtle warning that as autumn drew ever near the days would grow ever shorter. She watched as a standard black, nondescript sedan drove to the main doors of the mansion; they were exactly fifteen minutes early for the meeting. She turned from the massive floor-to-ceiling windows to take her place once more behind the long desk, lighting a cigar, and looking over the operative's service record. She was an amazing fighter, zero failed missions, no target had ever evaded or escaped her; a truly impressive resource the Americans were sending Hellsing.

A knock drew her attention and Walter deigned to open the door and announce that her guests had arrived. She waved him in as she pushed aside the record jacket and puffed away on her slim cigar, feigning disinterest as a smartly dressed man near her butler's age strode in confidently with his operative following a mere two paces behind.

"Good evening, ma'am," the handler greeted with a firm handshake. "David Wilson, we spoke on the phone Wednesday."

The F.B.I. handler, David, wore the same age lines as Walter, telling tales of combat and laughter, he seemed to carry his years just as well; silver-grey streaked through his neatly slicked back blonde hair and laugh lines edged in around his pale blue eyes. His sharp three-piece suit was smartly tailored, hiding all evidence of the years now likely spent more often behind a desk rather than out in the field.

"Yes, you're earlier than expected," Integra acknowledged, returning the offered handshake.

"A holdover from my military days I'm afraid," David offered, turning to allow his operative to pass. "And this is Irina McWilliams."

His operative, Irina, seemed far more as ease than her handler, her dark auburn hair pulled back in twisting coils, vibrant eyes assessing Integra's office with an air of complete confidence. She had also apparently set aside the same need as her handler for his professional attire, though wearing properly tailored charcoal slacks, they were tucked into black combat boots just under her knees, and the black dress shirt sleeves were folded neatly up to her elbows, showing off brightly colored sleeves of tattoos. The operative pulled her right hand from the back pocket of her pants and offered it to Integra with a blinding smile.

"Hi, Eir, very nice to make your acquaintance."

Irina, or Eir as she had introduced herself, somewhat reminded Integra of Alucard's pet Police Girl, not the young girl's clumsy, flighty manner but her endearing expressions and how Integra didn't immediately consider her to be a possible threat. She rather had the impression that Eir was simply up front and honest, smiling and personable because she wanted to be and entirely uninterested in putting on a show; the woman was an operator, not an administrator as her handler, she understood the necessity of appearing non-threatening. For the blonde woman certainly had some difficulty meshing the operator before her with the service record she had spent the past two days pouring over.

Integra met her hand with a firm grasp, "Pleasure. McWilliams, is that Irish?"

Eir gave a light, breathy laugh, "Irish and Scottish, I'm afraid my ancestry tended to roam."

"Catholic?" the director inquired, digging as subtly as possible to assuage the suspicions that had rioted through her head since David had first reached out with his department's offer.

At this both Eir and David huffed a chuckle; there was obviously a story there. "No. Definitely not."

"Very good then. Take a seat if you will," Integra gestured to the chairs before her desk. "I must say, the F.B.I.'s offer of cooperation is exceptionally overdue, what brought about the change of heart may I ask?"

David, sitting upright in his chair, shoulders squared and attentive was a direct contrast to his operative whom sat with one leg beneath her with the other crossed at the knee, leaning back with her arms draped upon the arm rests. The differences between the handler and his operative were completely laughable, and Integra found she rather enjoyed Eir's lack of propriety, the need to pretend to be something she was not. She caught Walter smirking, obviously recalling her own distaste for decorum when she had been a child.

"To be completely honest, the Bureau was not initially fond of this effort, but as the V.T.C. falls under my supervision and judgement, this was more my call and less that of the Director's," David recounted. "Please don't misunderstand, the Director of course came 'round to see the benefits of this endeavor, but we were met with quite the amount of skepticism throughout the Bureau. Most of the vampires in the U.S. come over from western Europe however, and I thought it only prudent to send my best operative to assist in mitigating the ever-evolving issue here."

The handler obviously held a fondness for Eir, his eyes straying to where she sat beside him. That fondness didn't appear in any way romantic, though Integra knew there certainly were men of his age that had a proclivity for women in their late 20's. No, this was more akin to a mentor whom had simply grown close to his protégé, watched her grow, listened over a headset as she fought time and again, and one who waited safely behind for her return.

"I appreciate your understanding of the situation here and certainly cannot afford to turn away such a skilled operator," Integra admitted with a nod to Eir. "If you agree, Eir's position here will be determined on a trial-basis; we have lone operatives ourselves and I am aware that's how she has conducted missions in the past, but I cannot condone these terms until I have seen her in the field myself."

David clasped his hands together between his knees, leaning forward slightly, "Yes, of course, that was something Eir and I had discussed on our way out. Please do understand, Eir tends to not become close to anyone who operates out in the field and has taken a tendency to not operate well within a team. It's simply too-"

"Unnecessary, David. Very Captain America of you but no, thank you," Eir interjected. "I will work with your people, I'll show them what I know and learn whatever I can from them, but I won't be treated like the F.N.G. just because I came over from the States. This may not be my house but it is my fire, I'm here to help as I can during my time here because I've fought this kind of fire, vampire and otherwise, for over a decade."

"Yes, I've seen as much throughout the early years in your service record," Integra pressed her fingertips against the record jacket. "You've been running combat operations for twelve years, I would not have thought Blackwater took on sixteen-year-olds."

Eir smirked, green eyes gleaming as she ran the fingers of her left hand under the cuff of her right sleeve, "I had a knack with for fighting and a peculiar talent with a rifle."

Despite herself, a smile crept to Integra's face, "That will do. I'll leave you to unpack your things, Walter will show you to your room. If you have a need for anything he will have it taken care of."

David stood stiffly, hand extended once more, "Thank you, Ms. Hellsing. I'll look for Irina's reports throughout the month. If for any reason this doesn't work out though, Irina can find her way home and I'm certain she'll be sure to let me know if this venture has gone amiss. It was a pleasure."

As Integra stood and shook the man's hand for the last time Eir soundlessly unfolded from her seat, standing in a manner so strangely effortless it was very near to unnatural. She tucked her hands into her back pockets and gave a nod to the Hellsing director and exited the office after David following at the same two paces. Walter escorted the two back to the sedan parked before the entrance of the manor, waiting patiently just inside the double doors, allowing Hellsing's newest operative to gather two black sea bags and ruck sack from the back seat and say her goodbye's in peace.

David pulled a large manila envelope from a suitcase stowed away in the trunk and handed it over to Eir. She looked briefly at it and hugged her handler tightly about the neck, rocking up on her tip-toes to reach him. "This is everything we know about it," he spoke softly into her ear. "Everything the Bureau knows and a few things I've found that they don't know. Be careful around these people and remember, they are _not_ our friends, they believe in… something else."

Eir released him and took a step back, hefting one sea bag over her shoulder. "Do take care of yourself, David, and keep a weather eye out for what we spoke of. You will notify me if I should expect any repercussions for this," she encouraged with a cold glint in her eyes before turning to Walter and smiling.

Walter nodded to the young woman who did not turn to so much as offer a last glance back as her handler instead watched as she walked away, a strangely reverent look about him. The butler closed the door behind her with his own nod to David, "Shall I take one of your bags, Ms. McWilliams?"

"Thank you, Mr. Dornes, but no. And I _will_ insist that you simply call me Eir or I'll go out of my way to drive you mad calling you 'Mr. Dornes'," she taunted with a grin. "Now, where do you want me?"

Walter sputtered, attempting to hold back a laugh but failed as a chuckle escaped. "Very well Ms. Eir, you're up this way," he gestured for her to follow.

"Well alrighty then, that'll just have to do," Eir conceded with a winning smile.

Walter lead her down the winding halls, all of them confusingly similar; potted plants, sculptures, marble busts, and paintings breaking up the monotony but only just. The domed, blue under-lit ceilings caught her eye; a nice touch to give the mansion a touch of uniqueness. Finally, they stopped before an oak door that looked the same as all the others, though the very English suit of knight's armor across from the room made for a handy hallmark.

"Quite the labyrinth you have here, Walter," Eir remarked with a light laugh. "I take it you keep the minotaur in the dungeons?"

As he opened the door into a rather sizeable room the old butler found himself unable to hold in the chuckle at her quip once more, "Quite right, Ms. Eir, you'll be meeting him shortly in fact so do be sure to come prepared. Most of our personnel do not live on the grounds, but given your particular circumstance Sir Integra thought it best. The laundry bins are collected by the staff daily, meals are taken care of by the staff as well so if you have any preferences please let me know-"

"I prefer to cook for myself," Eir insisted, making her way around the room after having set her bags on the chest at the foot of the queen-sized bed. "I don't mean to offend, it's just an obscure habit picked up over the years. If you could show me to the kitchen that would be great."

The sunset shone behind her through the two unnecessarily large floor-to-ceiling windows, turning her dark auburn hair an ethereal, glowing copper. Walter smiled and nodded, "Of course, Ms. Eir. I'm afraid it will have to wait though; it's time to meet the minotaur."

"And here I left the sword of Aegeus in my closet back in the States," Eir shook her head, digging through one of the sea bags she'd brought. "Damn, you always forget _something_ when you travel."

"Ah, you know your mythology," the butler said in an attempt to mask the surprise in his voice, waiting for Eir to find what she was looking for.

A slight twitch ticked a steady rhythm at her jaw. "It's _history_ ," Eir insisted, finding what Walter could only assume was a holster, "sung in songs and set in stones, observed with the passing of the ages before the recording of time." She fastened the tactical black holster onto her right upper thigh then delved back into her bag. "The names may not be right, the characters misplaced or distorted, but the stories of a dozen separated nations can't be wrong. Where in the great wide fucking world -oh, there it is." Then she retrieved a single pistol from the bag, pulled back the slide to ensure a round was chambered, and holstered it.

"Sig Saur .45 caliber Combat Edition, only 300 were ever made for the American Navy SEALs. That is a notoriously difficult pistol to come across, Ms. Eir," Walter noted. "Might I ask how one came to be in your possession?"

Eir clutched at her chest, feigning an indignant gasp, " _Sir_ , don't you know not to ask a woman her secrets? If I had pearls I would clutch them!" She gave him a tilted smile before tucking her hands into her back pockets, a strange habit but certainly not the worst, Walter noted.

The old butler chuckled and motioned for Eir to follow him, down the winding hallways and up a case of stairs until they saw a short blonde woman waiting outside the doors of Integra's office.

"Hi, Walter!" came the jubilant blonde's greeting.

"Hello, Ms. Police Girl. Is Alucard in with Sir Integra?"

"Master's trying to make her mad, he said someone smells tasty," the young woman shivered. "It's creepy, Walter, eating people."

Walter gave her an understanding smile, "One of his less appreciated qualities, I assure you. This is Irina McWilliams, she's an F.B.I. special operative joining us from the United States."

Eir stepped out from behind Walter, pulled her right hand out of her pocket and offered it to the Police Girl in greeting. "Just Eir is fine. I'm assuming your name isn't _actually_ Police Girl."

"No, Master's just mean," the blonde exclaimed, taking Eir's hand and shaking it happily. "I'm Seras, Seras Victoria! I'm a vampire but please don't be afraid."

As they broke apart Eir gave Seras a grin and crossed her brightly tattooed arms over her chest, "Oh, you're _new_. No worries, just don't lose your head or come after me in a fight and we're solid."

"I see you two will get along just fine," Walter stated, bringing their attention back to him. "Ladies, if you will, please wait here, Sir Integra will call you in once she's finished with Alucard," he directed. "I've tasks to complete, but you shouldn't have to wait long."

* * *

Upon waking Alucard felt his master's call, the tug of compulsion that resonated in his bones and lead him straight to her ostentatious office. As he shifted through a bookshelf something new met his nose, something he'd never caught the scent of before. It smelt of earth and iron and mountain air, something beyond ancient, born in the fury of battle. In all his many years upon the earth he had found that there was a kind pattern to different scent; a single note that distinguished humans from other creatures while everything else gave him hints to their lives, but there was always the same tone to their scent. Whatever this was, it was certainly not _just_ human; it was something decidedly _more_. His master had invited something exciting into her home and he needed to find out who it was, open a vein and learn them down to their _soul_.

"Something tasty walked into your office today, Master. Why didn't you invite me for a bite?"

Integra, startled, threw the book she was holding, hitting him squarely in the face. "Damn you, if you destroy those volumes I swear I shall have you staked with silver and leave you to starve for a year."

"You may destroy them yourself throwing them like that, Master," the vampire offered with a salacious grin, retrieving the book from where it fell at his feet. "Now, what delectable drink came to see you today?"

"That's why I've called you," the Hellsing director told him very matter-of-factly. "This past Wednesday the Americans finally reached out; the F.B.I.'s V.T.C. department head has brought an operative to help here as many of their own vampires came from western Europe." Integra retrieved a slim cigar from the case in her pocket, lighting it and inhaling the rich smoke.

Alucard gave his master a toothy grin, "Another to guard me in the day, I'm honored, my master."

"On the contrary, servant. The American is not here to guard your coffin, she's going to operate in the field and assist in training our troops in any way she can."

"She?" inquired the vampire. "All these years you've wanted the cooperation of these silly Americans and they send you a woman." He taunted and laughed, "I do hope she's not as disappointing as the Police Girl."

Integra returned her servant's mocking grin, "I think you'll find Eir is more qualified by far than your starving little stray. If your pet can ever get it through her head to start _eating_ then she may perhaps prove her usefulness, but until that time I must make do with what resources I have."

"The Police Girl will learn or she will die," Alucard snarked. "It's as simple as that, my master."

"I'm sure it isn't, Alucard," his master rebutted, "nothing ever is." The blonde adjusted her spectacles and crushed her cigar into the ash tray before making her way to the doors of her office. "Ladies, if you would," she called, letting in Alucard's own servant and the _other_.

"Good evening, master, Sir Integra," Seras offered weakly with a smile.

Integra gave a short nod to the fledgling vampire before gesturing to the American, "Alucard, this is Irina McWilliams. Eir, I'm certain you're aware of Alucard, the top agent of the Hellsing organization."

Eir pulled her hands from her back pockets, the riot of color upon her forearms flashing as she crossed them over her chest, squaring her shoulders back and Integra saw a glimpse of the operator she'd read so much about. "The minotaur, yes. Walter told me about your monster in the dungeons. All dark magic and teeth, I'm sure."

The scent of mountain forests, iron, and gunpowder met his nose as Alucard took a deep, unnecessary breath; subtly different, but the base scent was still there. It was she that he had smelt, this unassuming woman with a singular flair for indifference, or so she seemed. This woman was short, perhaps 1.6 meters, but absolutely proportionate; from a distance, he imagined many would think her to be much taller than she actually was. Piercing green eyes, deep red and dark brown hair, tanned skin, black and grey clothes to make her appear slight; she was a study in making oneself appear to be unthreatening. But he could hear the flow of blood throughout her body, see her muscle and read them like the map of her life; this woman was much more than she seemed. Even now her balance was shifting, muscles flexing and relaxing, and joints adjusting; she was prepared for him to test her.

"The minotaur? I hope you've brought a sword if you're going to slay me," he taunted with a laugh, fangs glinting in the light of his master's office as he sauntered toward Eir, stopping once the toes of his boots were mere centimeters from her own. "If you Americans didn't have such a predilection for rudeness I might take have taken that personally," he laughed, looking down at her upturned face through his red-tinted wire frame glasses and breathing her in.

"I'm pretty handy with a sword, if you want to try me there's one in my bag," Eir rebutted with an expression that was an impressive cross between a sneer and her own salacious grin, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Your 'horns' are smaller than I've heard. It could be the fedora or maybe you're just not the Big Bad you've been hyped up to be. Though good on you for playing to the 'typical vampire' motif, I can't say I've never seen a vampire all decked out in red before," she said mockingly, gesturing to his charcoal suit and dark red fedora, cravat, and duster with her brightly tattooed left arm.

Alucard sneered back at her, his red duster flowing about him as he bent toward her, "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

Eir barked out a laugh, "Punning is the lowest form of wit and always will be; sarcasm, on the other hand, is the highest form of intelligence. Any other dick measuring you'd like to get out of your system or can we get started?"

The vampire let out a loud laugh, fangs glinting as he stood up straight once more. "Oh, I like you, little girl. You may even last a week with that _fire_ running through your veins."

Integra stepped forward, Seras all but quaking where she stood just a few meters from her master and Eir, sapphire eyes shifting quickly from one to the other. "That's quite enough, you two," Integra ordered. "Eir, the shooting course is prepared, if you'll gather what you need we'll meet you down there."

Eir tucked her hands into her back pockets once more, with a less antagonistic smile. "Certainly," she acquiesced. "I've still a bit to go until I'm familiar with the layout of this place, could Seras show me the way?"

Alucard's signature grin fell a bit, as the woman turned away from him; though he knew she was still entirely aware of him, she had effectively dismissed him. It struck a nerve, but there was something else to her, something just beneath the façade of her skin and sharp wit; she was something else, this Eir from America. Blood usually called to him from within a person, the chorus of a life within the veins, but hers didn't simply sing; it beckoned a siren's song of irresistible power if he should drink from her. This woman wasn't _just_ a simple human, he noted again as he watched her leave his master's office with his fledgling, and he couldn't wait to tear the truth of what she was out of her flesh.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Hey, y'all left reviews! I can't really express how in awe I am, so thank you all so much! I'm a bad lady though... a bad, bad lady. I know I said I would try to get this updated for-friggin-ever ago and I didn't. But (!) new chapter and some REVELATIONS!

 **Chapter 2**

"So, 'Police Girl' huh?" Eir inquired as she and Seras made their way back to her quarters from Integra's office. "What's that about? Is it just the getup they've got you in or was that like actually a thing?"

The blonde girl perked up a bit, sapphire eyes sliding over to the woman beside her before looking down quickly at the skirt and blouse Sir Integra had presented her with that first night, the Hellsing sigil sewn into the left breast pocket. "Oh, well before Master turned me into a vampire I actually _was_ a police officer. Now he just calls me that, I think I may be a bit of a disappointment to him."

"Your father was a policeman I take it?"

"Well…yes, actually. How did you know?" an incredulous look stretching over the vampire's face.

A smile slid into the corner of Eir's mouth, "Daughter's generally take after their fathers, especially when they're good men." Her eyes unfocused as she walked, her mouth straightening into a thin line for a moment before she shook her head slightly and refocused. "It's an important profession, good people need others to stand between them and the rest."

"The men I worked with were good people; they picked at me a bit, but it was all in good fun." Seras recalled, it wasn't so long ago that she had begged them to "please stop calling me kitten," and now she was a vampire working for an organization that had been killing vampires for generations. "Eddie and Simon were good men."

The American glanced over at her, noting the saddened expression on her face. "What happened to them, might I ask?"

"The night I was changed, we were all called out to the village of Cheddar, people were disappearing for days before everyone was either just gone or dead. A pair of officers went to check up on a wife who had reported her husband was missing and found the whole village had been turned into these _monsters_. Men, women, the children were all dead or worse; it was horrible.

"Eddie, Simon, and I were tasked to investigate the church, we found the villagers and the vampire who had been turning them into ghouls. They killed Simon, ate him while he screamed. Eddie told me to run, get help or get away, before they ate him, too. So I ran, I was terrified and what could I possibly do against the monsters? But I wasn't fast enough, the vampire caught up with me; he was going to rape me then kill me, turn me into just another ghoul. Simon and Eddie, he turned them into ghouls, they didn't even recognize me. It's like they were just gone and the monsters wearing their faces had taken over."

Seras shuddered at the memory, recalling his hands on her, fingers digging in and caging her in bands of immovable iron. "Then Master was there. The ghouls shot him into pieces and he just came back, completely fine; like they couldn't even hurt him. He pulled out this _huge_ pistol and when he shot at the ghouls they just turned into dust; I think that vampire was more terrified than I was even though he still had ahold of me. I guess that's why he wanted Master to let him go, so he tried to bargain with him, told Master that I was the only survivor and he'd give me to him. Then Master shot him through me and turned me into a vampire. That was just a few days ago."

"Sounds like you've been through quite a lot for such a short amount of time," Eir offered, taking notice of the knight's suit of armor just across the hall from where her room should be. "But, for what it's worth, I think that you seem to have a good handle on it. This is me."

She turned sharply, striding into the room that had been assigned to her and digging through the sea bag that lie open on her bed. Seras stood just inside the door jamb, watching patiently as Eir pulled a black tactical chest rig and a pair of shooting gloves from her seemingly bottomless bag. As the American donned the chest rig, she noticed there were two KA-BAR knives in sheathes clipped with the grips pointed outboard on the mesh in the rig. Eir pulled on her shooting gloves, which ranged only up to her wrists, and Seras noticed they looked as though they had certainly seen better days.

"Walter can get a new pair of gloves if they're worn out," the fledgling offered, indicating the missing fabric on the index fingers to the first knuckle.

"Huh?" She inspected her gloves before catching on to the girl's meaning. "Oh, no that was on purpose," Eir laughed, flexing a finger at the vampire. "It's so I can feel the trigger pull, just another little habit I picked up."

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that," the blonde girl admitted, appearing properly admonished for her lack of knowledge.

Eir sighed and turned to the vampire, hands on her hips, "Check it out. How long were you a full-fledged 'police girl' before you were turned?"

Blinking at the question, not understanding why the American would ask, Seras responded hesitantly, "Three months."

"So it's safe to say you were pretty much brand spanking new; fresh out of the academy with only the limited amount of information they gave you on tactical gear and tricks of the trade. Never even had to fire your weapon in the field. Right?"

"Well, yeah. But-"

Eir cut her off with a wave, "This stuff takes _years_ to pick up on, learning what works best for you in a combat situation, how to stack your gear. It's not something you just know off hand, especially when your _only_ combat experience is right after being attacked by a vampire then changed into one yourself." She turned from the vampire and hefted her second sea bag off the chest and onto the bed, "I'm not trying to put you down, but there is literally _no way_ you could know this stuff if you've never had any exposure to it. But I'll teach you if you'd like, give you some pointers, show you some stuff I know."

A bright smile lit on Seras' face, "Would you really? I'd appreciate it so much; Master hasn't taught me _anything_ since he turned me."

Halting rather suddenly in unpacking her bag to find what she was after, Eir gave the blonde a perturbed glance, cocking a questioning eyebrow. "Really? Just 'hey, you're a vampire now, good luck figuring this shit out on your own.' What an asshole." She shook her head and went back to pulling various items from the bag until she finally came to what looked like a suit case.

"Well, Master's told me how to do a few things, but only when I needed to know them most," Seras admitted, twiddling her thumbs as Eir opened the case and began putting together what appeared to be a rifle of some sort. "But if I knew this stuff before I _needed_ it I would be more prepared. It's like he just expects me to know and it's all just way too fast."

"The best way to learn isn't really in the field, I'll grant you that. But you can't exactly take this stuff at your own pace, otherwise you'll never learn," Eir told her, shouldering the strange black rifle. "I'm likely not the best person to ask about vampire powers and how they work, but I _can_ teach you how to fight."

With an excited nod and a smile Seras stepped outside the doorway to the American's room. "Thank you so much!"

The green-eyed woman grinned, "Alrighty then. So, shooter's course, let's get a move on."

* * *

The Hellsing shooter's course was a labyrinth and though there were no actual ghouls within, the targets and obstacles within presented a very real sense of danger. The course had been constructed in a fashion similar to MOUT training for the war in the Middle East, the roof nonexistent; though there were some extreme differences. Trap doors, explosions to pose as distractions or waylay the runner, and instead of stone or cinderblock, the walls were made of a steel compound to prevent the necessity of rebuilding portions of the course during live-fire exercises. Some of the targets were mobile, others popped out from just around blind corners, and there were even some that rushed at the shooter at speeds that ghouls were known to reach in crazed, hunger-induced rampages. The course overall was designed to test the accuracy and awareness of either a team or singular runner; it was one of the finest ranges that Integra had ever seen, if she might say so herself.

"Eir's at the starting point, she's ready to go," Seras called from just behind the Hellsing director and the master vampire at her side as they took a place at the balcony to observe.

"Good," Integra confirmed with a nod. "Walter, run the full team session."

The aged butler drew back, rather shocked that the woman would pit a single person through a session meant for a team of no less than ten men. "Sir, isn't that a bit much for her first time through?" he inquired carefully, selecting the proper challenge level at the computer dedicated to the running of the course and running the initiation sequence.

The Hellsing director's eyes narrowed as the session began, assessing with a critical eye as Eir made her way through the steel door of the starting point. "The Americans seem to think she's the best operator to ever come through their ranks, let's put that to the test."

Alucard smirked, his wide, fanged smirk stark against his black hair. "My Master means to take her measure, Walter. Let's see how she holds up, she may even make it through the second ring if she's lucky." The master vampire threw his head back and let out a chilling laugh as the targets began to move.

Two stories below the on-lookers, Eir crept through the course on swift but silent feet; buttstock of her rifle in the pocket of her shoulder and her weight perfectly balanced, maintaining a low profile. The first moving target rushed at her from around a blind corner, a paper target with a fairly realistic rendering of a ghoul upon its surface. A single shot marked a kill on the target, it folded down to the floor and the operative kept moving.

The master vampire at Integra's side let out a low whistle, "Not bad."

"She can shoot, that's to be expected," she rebutted.

"There were two shots, Sir," Walter informed her, reading over the information returning from the active course to the computer. "One shot to the heart and another to the head. She's not sloppy, and the weapons she brought with her are certainly nothing to turn one's nose up at."

Two more targets converged on Eir from her flanks and Integra couldn't help but be impressed as the operative fired upon the closer of the two, registered the third as it popped up directly behind her, and turned smoothly to fire upon the second target as she threw a KA-BAR at the third. She back-tracked for a moment, pulled her knife from the popup, and returned it to its sheath at the small of her back before proceeding forward once more. A volley of frozen paintballs rushed toward the operative as five rushing targets converged upon her in quick succession. But she simply lowered her center of gravity, bending further at her knees and fired, the last target registering a kill before the second had begun to fold down.

Eir continued on, never halting her movement as she made her way through the maze of corridors. A loud groan of metal sounded out from the portion of floor beneath the operative's feet and she ducked into a room just to her right as the trap door collapsed; the target that popped up as she entered was met with a KA-BAR to the heart area before she gave it a solid kick, forcing it to collapse. She scanned each corridor as she progressed, clearing corners and watching for traps, until an explosion went off just her left and the wall collapsed down unleashing more than a dozen mobile and rushing targets.

The operative tossed a quick glance into the corridor at her back before slowly backing up, firing killing shots into one target after another and effectively avoiding the volleys of frozen paintballs. After the second target registered a kill Integra saw a flash follow a round fired; for a moment she had thought it was a trick of the lighting but then she saw it again after the fifth target registered a kill and folded down. Eir ejected the magazine from her rifle with a press of her right thumb to the release then reloaded seamlessly with a fresh magazine retrieved with her left hand and continued firing. She continued checking the corridor behind her for targets, minding her surroundings, until a popup and several more targets converged from her rear while two targets continued from the first group.

She threw a KA-BAR into one of the remaining targets and took down two of the targets converging on her from behind, movements calculated and concise. Then she put wall to her left at her back to keep every target within her line of sight, finishing off the last remaining target from the initial group and backing away from the remaining five targets of the second group. Three of the rushing targets were taken down in quick succession and when her boot hit the folded down target with her KA-BAR she took a knee and retrieved it with her left hand, taking down the remaining two targets as she stood once more.

In spite of herself, Integra couldn't help but be impressed, Eir was exactly the operative her service record has suggested: calm, calculated, and concise. The operative made her way through the final four rings or the course in much the same manner, every move purposeful and no action wasted on flair. The action within the course drew the attention of more than three dozen of her troops, all gathered on balconies or overlooking areas to watch the lone runner's progress in a session that they all knew was meant for a full team. After a full thirteen minutes and eleven seconds from when she entered the course, the operative felled the final obstacle of rushing targets, randomized popups, and several explosions and made her way through the archway that marked the finish line.

"Thirteen minutes and eleven point eight seconds," came Walter's voice, drawing Integra's attention from Eir clearing her rifle and pistol of rounds. "Not the record time for the full team session, but certainly impressive for a single person."

"Impressive indeed," Alucard sneered, and she had a feeling the fact a human woman out-performing his own fledgling rubbed the master vampire the wrong way.

A grin slid to Integra's mouth as she looked over the action report on the course computer. Two shots to each target fired upon, head and heart with incredible precision, no less than ten centimeters of penetration with the KA-BAR. For as personable and non-threatening as Eir presented herself, she was absolutely lethal as her service record suggested, perhaps more so. For a woman who had just run the entire length of the shooter's course in slacks and a button-down shirt, Integra couldn't wait to see just how effective the operative would be in full tactical gear against more than just paper targets.

* * *

"That was _amazing_!" Seras squealed, meeting Eir just outside the course. "I've never seen anyone run through the course that fast by themselves."

Sweat trickled down the green-eyed woman's spine, running a dark, wet line down the back of her black dress shirt as she drank from a large water bottle. The black chest rig, rifle, and gloves lying on the loading bench the operative sat atop just meters from the archway, her breath slow and steady but Seras could hear her heart steadying as the last strains of adrenaline fled her system.

"That was tough," Eir conceded. "If I didn't know better I would think you all had it out for me with the trap doors and explosions. I've never seen a course like this, Integra must have some good friends in pretty high places to have put it together."

"That was an impressive run, Ms. Eir," Walter applauded, announcing both his and Integra's arrival. "A Tavor SAR Flattop B18, though I'm unfamiliar with the muzzle attachment."

"It's a hybrid I machined a couple years ago; muzzle brake, compensator, and flash suppressor all in one." She scratched the back of her neck with a grin, "Took a long time to get just right, but it works pretty well."

An impressed smile settled on the man's face, "I would certainly say so. Do you mind?"

Eir dismantled the rifle in a few short seconds as both Seras and Walter looked on with rapt attention, then she handed the barrel over to him. "It's the grooves in the side," she offered as he examined the attachment. "If you open them up too much in the machine process the recoil kicks like a mule, if they're too thin the flash redirects through the end and FUBARs the accuracy."

"May I ask why you chose a Tavor, Ms. Eir?" Walter inquired, still mapping out the machine work on the attachment.

"I like the weight distribution; having the bulk of the weight in the buttstock keeps the rifle in the pocket of the shoulder and a lighter barrel-end makes for quick target acquisition. That, and it's probably the easiest rifle to break down for cleaning, just pop those two pins, open it up, and the guts just slide out of the buttstock. Easy-peasy."

He chuckled at her terminology. "Just so, Ms. Eir. I'll leave you to it, Sir Integra. Come along Ms. Victoria," he called, handing the barrel over to the operative with a nod and a smile before heading back inside the mansion with the fledgling vampire in tow.

The Hellsing director smirked as Seras and Eir shared a small wave before the American reassembled her rifle. "It was an impressive run; may I ask where you learned to shoot like that?"

"Here and there," Eir offered, pushing the pins of the buttstock back into place and racking the slide a few times to ensure a smooth mesh of the assembled parts. "Fighting changed from my time with Blackwater to the F.B.I. and again when I was tasked to the V.T.C., but some things are universal."

"I assume you weren't trained to fight in slacks and a button-down blouse, though."

Eir laughed before taking another long gulp from the water bottle next to her thigh on the bench, "Well, you never know what might happen or when, right? If you have an operative who can only fight when they're assured full range of motion then you've saddled yourself with a pretty useless asset."

"Well, I've had more impressive results from operatives on the course, though I've certainly seen worse out of others." Integra waited patiently as Eir hopped off the bench and collected her gear, "I'm sure they could learn a thing or two from your own experiences in combat."

"When you say you've seen worse, you wouldn't happen to mean Seras would you?" Integra had the good manners to be flustered for a moment before Eir went on, "You don't seem to have much tolerance for her, honestly, it's a hard thing to miss whenever you two are in proximity."

The Hellsing director turned as the American operative made her way to the manor entrance, shocked that the woman had dared to call her out on her frustrations regarding the fledgling vampire. As the two entered the manor and made their way towards Eir's quarters Integra finally spoke.

"Seras Victoria is a vampire that refuses to drink blood; she's starving herself and limiting, if not completely erasing, any way she might be useful," the blonde woman vented. "What's more, Alucard doesn't teach or train her _because_ she's so useless. I cannot afford to wait for the Police Girl to learn in her own time, not now."

Eir's brow furrowed and she hefted her gear over her shoulder. "No, she can't just pick things up in her own good time, but the vampire that changed her refuses to teach her anything save for the rare moments when that knowledge could be the difference between success and failure. I get your frustrations, but she's a rookie in all sense of the word. Not three months in to being a police officer she was turned into a vampire and she's been on how many missions, just picking up stuff as she goes because her master is as useless as a sack of smashed assholes when it comes to raising a new vampire."

Integra cocked an incredulous eyebrow at her, "Shall I make friends with her then? Coddle her and pander to her inexperience?"

"Okay, humor me for a moment," the American offered, turning the corner of the hallway leading to her room. "When you took over Hellsing you were what, fifteen? Did you just automatically know how to respond to every situation, how to handle every vampire attack that was thrown at you"

As Eir opened the door to her room and entered Integra thought for a moment standing in the doorway. "No, I didn't, actually. I confided in Walter and he assisted me often in the early years, especially when Alucard got more out of hand than usual."

"It would be safe to assume then that I'm not entirely wrong when I say that she's just barely treading water after you've more or less thrown her into the deep end," the American suggested, having stowed her gear in the chest at the foot of her bed, her pistol on the bedside table. "Seras, through no fault of her own, is terrified of turning into a monster. I'm willing to bet she associates drinking blood with becoming the same monster that attacked Cheddar and killed the men she worked with.

"I'm not trying to tell you how to run your operatives, but a little bit of understanding might go a long way. Seras is still pretty young, even from a human standpoint. She's likely been picked on and put down her whole life for being pretty and flighty and she has no confidence to speak of, so unlike you and me she doesn't know how to push back, much less when to push back. It might not be such a bad thing for someone to be around that she can confide in when she needs to instead of trying to find her footing all on her own."

Integra leaned against the door jam, crossing her arms over her chest defensively as she watched Eir situate her belongings. "So, you _are_ implying that I should make friends with her?"

Eir laughed lightly, putting neatly folded clothes into the dresser across from her bed. "No, you're already an intimidating authority figure, she'd likely be scared shitless if you tried to make nice with her." She pulled a wireless speaker system from her bag next and as she situated the units around the rooms Eir explained. "You were really young when you inherited Hellsing if memory and reports serve well, so I'll gather then that you had to be untouchable from a young age; chances are you wouldn't really know how to 'make friends' with her even if you really wanted to. No offense, but you're not exactly the warmest person in this place and you've got vampires here. Walter wouldn't be a bad confidant but he's more someone she would look to as more of a father-figure. She obviously can't talk to the Minotaur because he's another intimidating authority figure and ultimately someone who refuses to try and connect with her because he sees her in likely the same light that you do: as a useless asset."

She turned and looked at Integra as she configured the system, "I'm not saying you're wrong to think she's useless, but it's not entirely her fault."

"I suppose you may have a point," Integra admitted. "Now what's all this that you've strewn about?"

"Oh, it's a sound system for a smart speaker," Eir picked up the Echo system and brought it over to the blonde woman. "I've got it tied into the sound system because I'm a bit of an insomniac, so there's probably a hundred different playlists in here." She retrieved her phone and opened the application controlling her music, "See? It's pretty nifty."

Integra watched in rapt interest as Eir scrolled through the playlists on her phone, and she noticed more than a few titles for various classical artists, traditional music, some for more modern artists, and the rest seemed to be for specific moods. Beethoven, druidic, Cesar Cui, Romanian traditional, neo-classical, combat, madness, and Tremonti were only a few of the names she did catch.

"You've quite eclectic taste, Ms. McWilliams," Integra noted, handing the phone back. "Now what's this about a sword you've brought with you?"

A strange expression flit across Eir's face, passing so quickly that Integra had a bare moment to register the change before it was gone as the American turned to the bag on the bed. For someone that conducted her actions so fluidly the stilted action rang out in alarm to Integra's senses; there was a secret surrounding the woman before her, a secret wrapped around the existence of the sword she had made bare mention of to Alucard whom she had dubbed "minotaur." Of course, there was every possibility the director was simply reading too much into the operative's reaction; too much stress and not enough sleep.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to pry," Integra offered. "I have a particular fondness for traditional weapons, I'm afraid my curiosity got the better of me for a moment."

Eir turned once back around, a bundle wrapped in cloth so old the knight could not identify it was cradled in her arms. "It's all right," she spoke softly, the forlorn expression Integra had barely glimpsed before firmly affixed to her face. "This sword is … the labor of a lifetime," she pulled the cloth from the leather-wrapped hilt carefully, holding the bundle as a new mother would hold their firstborn, then unwrapped the blade once she had a firm hold of the grip.

The Damascus steel blade shone in the artificial light, swirls and ripples glinting a myriad of color. "It was broken centuries ago," Eir recounted, the rough-spun cloth crumpled in one hand as the other held the sword aloft, "or so the historians say, I've been collecting the pieces one by one and re-forging it."

It was a magnificent blade, certainly ages old from the look of the casting and forge work. The pommel was indicative of Eastern Europe, and from the dual handed grip the blade was certainly full-tang, the leather carefully wrapped around the grip worn but well cared for. The cross guard was just as black as the pommel and though it wasn't crafted from metal, she couldn't quite tell what the material was aside from clearly ancient. As Integra inspected the weapon before her she came to a sudden and abrupt halt; the last eight inches of the blade were missing from the point nearly to the end of the fuller, the jagged break standing out like a scar.

"Ah, yes, the last piece." Eir's forlorn expression fell from her face and the glint in her green eyes sent a shudder down the knight's spine. "I've spoken to countless historians and philosophers about this sword, they all argue that it could be any of a number of actual historic weapons; from Joyeuse to Durandal, even Excalibur was thrown around a bit. The only thing they were all in agreement on was that this sword was broken very intentionally." The American took the cloth and wrapped it carefully about the sword once more and shook her head. "It was a beautifully crafted weapon; I learned how to forge specifically to make this sword whole once more."

Integra shifted as Eir set the bundled sword upon the bed with great care. "Why such attachment to an old, broken blade? Surely you could have simply given it to any museum and they would have cleaned and cared for it, found its history."

A smirk settled on Eir's mouth as she leaned her hip against the bed and crossed her brightly tattooed arms over her chest, "Some things just aren't meant to sit behind glass. I found the hilt years and years ago, it was the first piece you see, and when I saw it I just kind of _knew_ , you know. That after a lifetime of having nothing, this one thing was meant for me."

Then Integra recalled from her service record, Eir didn't have a family or a home; no one to miss her if she was killed in combat, a trait that singled her out as a candidate for the perfect operative. In having no familial attachment and no real home to tie herself to, this woman before her had chosen a broken sword; hunted down the pieces and painstakingly re-forged it. She'd searched for its history, its home, and in finding none had given it a home with her. This was another layer to the American that Integra was rather pleasantly surprised in finding: in having been made a weapon from "a knack with for fighting and a peculiar talent with a rifle" she'd attached herself to a weapon as surely Integra had attached herself to the continuity of her family's legacy.

"Any idea where the last piece is then?" the knight inquired carefully, unsure if Eir would welcome assistance in locating a piece of something she had claimed so completely.

The green-eyed woman smiled and uncrossed her arms, tucking her hands into her rear pockets once more and a flash of black lines on her chest struck out against the tanned skin before the collar her blouse settled back into place. "It's here actually. Rather, somewhere in Britannia, I heard a few rumors about a piece of an ancient sword and figured I'd hunt around for the truth. If you wanted to offer an assist though, I really wouldn't turn it down, I'm eager to see the sword completed."

A smile settled at the corner of Integra's mouth as she turned to leave, "I'll have Walter look in to it then. And I expect you to start training the Police Girl once you've settled in, since you offered."

Eir let loose a laugh and brought a hand to the back of her head, fingers curling in her elaborately coiffed auburn hair as though she were a child caught pilfering sweets before dinner. "I suppose I did, didn't I?"

In spite of herself, Integra found herself enjoying Eir's presence, her general lack of decorum and propriety were a much-needed breath of fresh air in light of current events. Walter would certainly not have approved when she had been a child, such conduct was decidedly not-British and would have been corrected immediately. But in Eir it was endearing, that under the lethality she had displayed on the course she was just a person and in a way Integra had forgotten that even her own troops had their own lives outside of her organization. Eir was easy to talk to despite the fact no one had ever so blatantly called her out on anything in her life, and the knight found herself admiring her for it; the blunt, no-bullshit way she said what needed to be said.

After years of being untouchable, too intimidating to speak to, and generally unapproachable because of who she was and what she did, maybe she had just found a friend.

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